


You Save Me From the World

by ughisaac (Shwatsonlocked)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Just Like Heaven au, M/M, Medical, Romantic Comedy, Slow Build, Supernatural - Freeform, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shwatsonlocked/pseuds/ughisaac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac Lahey works long hours as a surgical resident. Scott McCall just wants to be left alone in his newly rented apartment. An apartment that's actually Isaac's, so why is Scott living there and saying it's his anyway?</p>
<p>AU of the movie <i>Just Like Heaven</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an au I've been dying to write for a long time and no pairing has gotten me to actually do it until now. I tried to keep direct quotes from the movie to a minimum, but DISCLAIMER: there are a few that I did put in and therefore do not own. Title comes from the song "Annie You Save Me" by Graffiti6. 
> 
> This is self-beta'd, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Isaac had been working for twenty-three hours straight. His eyes were stinging and his feet protesting against the non-stop walking and standing that came with being a surgical resident. He let out a sigh of relief as soon as he slumped into the chair in the on-call room. Isaac let his eyes slip shut. Just for a few seconds. If he could just shut them for a few seconds, he’d be ready to go.… 

“Doctor Lahey.”

Isaac jerked awake, head whipping around to see Bryanna, one of the night nurses, smiling down at him. 

“I wasn’t sleeping!”

“Patient’s ready for you,” she said.

“Thanks, I’ll be there in a sec.” Isaac stood up and shuffled to the coffee machine, pressing the buttons for a double shot of espresso. He was watching the dark liquid stream into the cup, his nostrils flaring at the slightly bitter smell of the coffee when Doctor Hale walked into the room.

“You look like crap.”

“Thanks Derek. I can always count on you to make me feel better,” Isaac replied, rolling his eyes. 

Derek sighed. “You know what I mean. How long have you been here?” he asked, staring at the bags that were probably under Isaac’s eyes. 

Isaac took a sip of his espresso, humming happily when it hit his tongue. It wasn’t the worst coffee he’d ever had. “Want the truth or the answer that will make you feel better?”

“You know what, just go home. Don’t you have that thing tonight?”

Isaac looked at Derek blankly for a second until he remembered exactly what tonight was supposed to be and checked his watch for the time. It was pushing four o’clock.

“Crap. Erica is going to kill me if I don’t go this time, but.…”

Derek raised his eyebrows expectantly. Derek’s raised eyebrows used to intimidate Isaac as an intern but after years of friendship, they sort of lost the intimidation factor. “But?”

“The attending position. If I don’t stay, Finstock’s going to give it to Whittemore.”

“I doubt it. Jackson doesn’t care enough or do enough around here for Finstock to just give him the position.”  

Isaac sighed, rubbed his eyes and raised his coffee in a mock toast. “Here’s to as many patients I can treat in the next couple hours then,” he said. Isaac drained the cup, tossing it in the trash and headed out into the busy hospital.

“Go home, Isaac!” Derek shouted after him.

Isaac made his way toward the fourth trauma room. He’ll go home, he will. Just after he’d done everything he could before needing to leave at six. To his dismay, Doctor Whittemore was exiting the room. Just a perfect example of why he needed to stay and steal—no, _earn_ the attending position away from this pompous douchebag.

“I took care of trauma four while you were lazing about, Lahey.”

“I wasn’t—” Isaac sighed as Jackson walked down the hall, ignoring his protest. “Great. I’ve been here for an entire day and he picks now to step up his game.” 

Isaac took the charts a passing nurse handed him and walked into trauma five. He read it quickly and looked around for his intern. His intern had a bad habit of disappearing and showing up at the last moment and Isaac really didn’t want to know what he got up to. 

“Has anyone seen Greenberg?”

“I’m here,” the intern said, jogging into the room. “Sorry, I’m here.”

Isaac bit back a snarky comment before turning his attention to his elderly patient. 

“Alright, Ms. Jones. I’m Doctor Lahey. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

The woman sat up and grabbed his hands. “Marry me?” she asked. 

Isaac grinned. It was sweet and he’d never been proposed to before. “Sure thing,” he said, turning to Greenberg. “We’re gonna need CBC, lytes, and a UA. Keep watch on my fiancée here, and decrease the morphine drip.” 

He passed off the chart to his intern, stifled a yawn and went to get more coffee. He was going to need it.

 

* * *

 

Over the next two and a half hours, Isaac consumed four cups of coffee, reset a dislocated shoulder, stitched up a head trauma, did all his charting, saved Jackson from an aggressive drugged up patient, performed five outpatient procedures, and was proposed to by Ms. Jones again. He was surprised he could still see straight, he’d been up for so long. Benefit of all the caffeine, even though he knew drinking that much of it would be bad for him later. 

Isaac looked at the time and cursed. Six thirty-five. He was going to be late for dinner at his sister’s. Isaac ran to the locker room, bumping into Derek, who was on the way out. The attending was dressed up in slacks, a gray shirt, gray vest, black tie and were those black, plastic glasses Isaac saw or just a figment of his sleep deprived mind?

“Shit, sorry man,” Isaac apologized, “You going home?”

“Actually, I’m having dinner with Paige,” Derek said, frowning slightly. 

“I thought you two got divorced a few months ago?”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t tell her parents and they’re in town. Paige promised that if I go tonight, she’ll let them know before they leave.”

“And you believe that?”

Derek glared at Isaac. “What are you still doing here? I told you to go home hours ago.”

“On my way out right now actually. Have fun with your own awkward family dinner,” Isaac said, moving forward to the locker room.

Derek stepped in front of him. “Isaac?” he said, “You’ll get the attending position. Don’t worry about it.”

Isaac snorted. Despite all the hard work he’d put in, he really doubted it. Things didn’t tend to work in his favor. He didn’t voice this to Derek though. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. See you tomorrow.”

Derek hovered for a minute, opening his mouth like he wanted to say something else, but just clapped a hand on Isaac’s shoulder before walking away. Derek had never been the let’s-talk-about-our-feelings type of friend. And that was fine. Isaac wasn’t too open about those things either.

Isaac grabbed his clothes from his locker and changed quickly. Erica didn’t tell him to dress up, so he was wearing one of his nicer pairs of jeans and a gray button up. He walked over to the wall mirror and stared at his reflection. Jesus, he looked awful, with bags under his eyes and his curls in disarray. He ran his hands over his hair, trying to tame it, but it wasn’t working. Oh well. He wasn’t trying to impress this date of his anyway, just make his foster sister give up on matchmaking.

Ever since Erica had married Boyd and had two adorable daughters, she’d made it her mission to make sure Isaac didn’t die alone. Isaac had blown her off about it for years but a few weeks ago she wouldn’t drop it if he didn’t at least try finding someone.

 _“I hate that I’m the only one in your life, Is,”_ she had said, staring at him with puppy eyes.  _“Are you really happy by yourself?”_

Isaac had hesitated and Erica took that to mean that he wanted her to set him up on dates. After several minutes of bickering and a small wrestling match, he finally got her to agree to one trial that if things went completely horrible, she’d let it go for good. Her only condition was that Isaac let her be there to make sure he didn’t sabotage the date or lie to her, which brought him back to the fact that he was going to be really late if he didn’t leave now.

 

* * *

 

Isaac was almost to the elevators when he saw Chief Finstock talking to Whittemore. Isaac swallowed before walking over to them, hoping that they were talking about a case and not a job promotion. Finstock must have seen him nearing, because the next thing Isaac knew, the Chief was calling him over.

“Lahey! I’ve got an aortic dissection and Jackson here was hoping to scrub in but he’s been on the clock for twelve already. How many hours have you been here?” 

Isaac exhaled, knowing that Jackson would get to do the surgery and then do such a fantastic job he’d seal the deal on the attending position. “A few more, but I could—”

“Nope,” Finstock said. “Jackson, you’re up. Go scrub while I talk to Lahey.”

Jackson’s smile was smug and Isaac wished he’d let that patient at least get in a punch earlier. Isaac lost himself to the imagined punching of Jackson Whittemore.

“—tulations,” Finstock said, smiling at Isaac.

Isaac blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“Congratulations, Lahey. You’re gonna be our new attending.”

Isaac was speechless. This...this had to be a dream, right? Some weird, alternate universe where he actually got something he wanted. “T—thank you, sir, but I thought Jackson would get it?” 

“I like you Lahey, you have passion. Passion makes for good attendings and good attendings make winning hospitals. Now, you’ll start on Monday so get some rest this weekend. Twenty-five hour shifts are a thing of the past and yes, that means I know how long you’ve been here.” 

 

* * *

 

Isaac called Erica as soon as he was pulling out of the parking lot.

“Hey, Er,” he said when she picked up.

“Where are you?” she asked, sounding harried. Isaac could hear his nieces running around in the background. 

“In the car,” he said, turning on his signal to switch lanes, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

“Okay, no rush. Your date’s late too. You’ll be perfect together, I can tell.”

“Don’t start,” he said, eyes narrowed. “Guess what?”

“Isaac, you know I hate it when you use the phone and drive.”

“And you know I’m not looking for anyone right now, yet here I am, on my way to a blind date. I’ll hang up after this. It’s important.”

Erica sighed. “I give up, just tell me. No, girls, go put that back!”

Isaac thought about dragging it out, but he was already having trouble not babbling about it and his sister already had her hands full with two kids.

“I got it. I got the attending position,” he said, grinning widely as he drove down the mostly empty road. 

A high-pitched shriek made Isaac jerk the phone away from his ear. Erica was _loud_.

“That’s awesome! I told you, Is. I told you you’d get the job. Okay. This is your celebration dinner then, so hurry up and get here, alright?”

Before Isaac could answer, tires squealing on pavement alerted him to the bright headlights and the truck about to crash into him. All Isaac could do was inhale sharply before the truck collided with his car. 

Isaac’s car flew into the air, his head smacking against the window and Isaac knew no more. 

“Isaac?” Erica’s voice echoed in the wreckage, “ISAAC!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took so long. I'll be honest, I'm a slower writer than I'd like to be, especially when life interrupts and makes me do things like repaint the trim and door in the bathroom. Anyway, I pushed through finishing the chapter today, so I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Again, I tried to keep movie quotes to a minimum and this is still self-beta'd. If anyone thinks I need a beta, please tell me to get one.

Scott frowned and looked around the apartment. He was barely listening to the realtor rattle off the selling points, too focused on what the apartment _didn’t_ have. “Sorry,” he said, cutting her off, “I told you I was looking for furnished, right?”

“Sweetie, this _is_ furnished,” she replied, gesturing to the weird floor cushions and sandbox. 

Scott just sighed and walked out of the apartment. None of these apartments were right. They were too empty, too cold. Scott didn’t need a place like that. He needed something comforting. Maybe he should take his mom up on the offer to move home, except that was the place he was trying to avoid. He’s not avoiding his mom. Scott loves his mom. It’s Beacon Hills he doesn’t want to return to. Not anytime soon.

“Okay, so that one’s a no,” the realtor said, following him down the stairs. “How about we try one more today, Mr. McCall? I know just the place and I feel like it could be the one.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said. One more couldn’t hurt.

Fifteen minutes later, they were standing in a furnished loft. It wasn’t the worst he’d seen today (honestly, that might have to be the one with the butt statues on either side of the couch), but something still didn’t feel right about it. Scott sat on the couch and frowned. The couch sucked. It really did. Al— _she_ would have hated it too. Scott could feel his chest tightening. He needed air. Scott hurried out of the apartment, not saying anything. 

Once he was outside, he felt like he could almost breathe again. His attacks happened less often now but.... 

“Scott, maybe we should re-discuss what you’re looking for,” Braeden said from behind him. “Are you having commitment issues? Maybe you’re confused about what it is you want, that’s fine, we’ve all been there, but I think I could help you a bit better if you told me more about yourself, your family situation— ”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” he said shortly. Scott didn’t even want to think about it. 

“Okay, that’s fine. How about we take a break, try again in a couple of months, see if you have a clearer picture of where you want to live. How does that sound?” 

It actually sounded like his only option. He knew that Stiles would let him crash on his couch for a few more weeks (actually, for as long as Scott needed but couches aren’t very comfortable when your teen years are behind you). Scott began nodding, shoulders slumped in defeat when a gust of wind blew a piece of paper onto his leg. He grabbed it before it could blow away and looked around for a trash can when the words, “For Lease” caught his attention. The address was for the place across the street. Scott turned around, finishing reading the details on the flyer, and looked up. Wow. It was a nice building, like, really nice. Maybe the universe was cutting him a break. There were no cars coming, so he jogged across the street, his realtor following as quickly as her heels would let her.

 “I really don’t think the unit will be available, Scott! It probably got snatched up as soon as the flyer was pinned to the board, places like this always do,” she said, pulling out her phone anyway as Scott opened the door. “Okay I’ll just...call them.”

When they walked into the apartment, Scott let out a shaky breath. It was sort of exactly what Scott was looking for. There were sunbeams streaming through the large windows, the space decorated but not cluttered and the yellow walls weren’t an annoyingly cheerful, make-you-want-to-claw-your-eyes-out yellow but an inviting soft shade. He briefly wondered whose stuff it was and what happened to them but that train of thought leads back to _her_ and Scott pushed the thoughts away. 

Needing to focus on something else, Scott turned his attention to Braeden, who was still on the phone. 

“Mm-hmm...yes....Okay, thanks....You too. Bye,” she said with a frown and ended the call. “Well that explains why it hasn’t rented yet. They’re only offering a month-to-month sublet.”

“Why?”

“Oh, some family matter. They didn’t really explain.”

Scott nodded and walked into the hallway. He came across the bathroom first, glanced inside and moved on to the next room. The bedroom was at the far end of the hallway and contained a king size bed, a dresser, bedside table and a phone. He walked back into the hallway and noticed a doorway with light coming through. Scott was curious where it led. He climbed the stairs, opened the glass door and stepped out onto the roof. A few seconds later, Braeden joined him.

“Wow, look at this. It’d need some work but I’m sure you could do something amazing with it. What do you think, Scott?”   

So far, he liked the place but he hadn’t done the most important thing yet. Scott went back into the apartment, ignoring the realtor’s question and plopped down on the couch. It was cushy, but not trying to swallow him and the fabric was soft. Braeden came back down after a few minutes, probably taking a moment to imagine killing Scott. He knew he’d been a pain to work with. It’d been so easy to find his first home, he hadn’t thought it’d be so hard to find an apartment he could stand. 

“Well, like I was saying earlier, we can always try again later, sort of regroup,” she said, sounding defeated. 

“I like the couch.”

“The, uh, the couch?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright then,” she said with a baffled smile, “Good couch.”

 

* * *

 

He’d moved in three days ago, and had yet to leave the apartment since. The Chinese place a couple blocks away had his order memorized already. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t  actually pretty depressing. Scott was sitting on the couch, drinking his who-knows-what-number beer and half-heartedly staring at the television, wondering how things had gotten to this point.  At some point over the past year and a half, Scott had to have turned into some sort of a masochist. It’s the only thing that could explain why he was doing this to himself. A female voice, one he remembered less and less every day, echoed in the room. Scott frowned and drained his can, tossed it on the pile of takeout containers and empty cans littering the coffee table and stalked into the kitchen to grab another. Scott stared at the contents of the fridge, which were beer cans, a jar of jelly, and hey—more beer. He wasn’t sure if the ridiculous amount of alcohol he drank was dulling the pain or if maybe, just maybe, he was starting to heal. Stiles would tell him to stop drinking and find out but... he wasn’t really ready for that. 

New can in hand, Scott turned around to resume his daily routine of moping on the couch, and it was _definitely_ moping and he kne—

“Oh my god!” Scott shouted. The can slipped from his grip and landed on his foot holy shit that hurt but why was there a stranger in his apartment? Was he about to be robbed or murdered? Man, his mom would be so mad if he got killed.

“Why is there a homeless person in my apartment?” the possible robber-slash-murderer asked.

Scott blinked in confusion and looked down at his clothes. Did he really look like a homeless person? He knew he hadn’t showered in a couple days and yeah, he was wearing a stained shirt and boxers but that didn’t mean he was a hobo—no offense to Mike, who was the coolest hobo Scott had ever met. “Dude, I’m not homeless, I live here!”

The blond robber looked genuinely upset as he shouted, “You can’t live here, _I_ live here!”

“What?” Scott said. “No way! Since when?”

“Since I rented it.”

“Oh my god, is this one of those rent scams where they rent it to more than one person? Is that why it was a month-to-month?” Scott groaned and ruffled his hair in frustration. 

“Look, I don’t know who rented my apartment to you, but I have a year lease. This is my stuff. That,” the blond nods his head toward the couch, “is my couch. Jesus, have you never heard of a trash can?”

“Of course I’ve heard of a trash can.” Scott started picking up the containers to throw away, while the so-called owner inspected the couch.

 “Did you stain this? My sister is going to kill you. She’s the one who decorated the place. I’m calling the cops, don’t move,” he said and walked toward the door.

Scott yelped when the guy faded away like a ghost or a hallucination, dropping the takeout containers on the floor.

“I...I think I had too much to drink.”

 

* * *

 

When Scott woke up the next day, he decided to play it safe and go buy new locks for the front door. Just in case. He wondered if it was normal to have complete conversations with a hallucination. Probably not. Privately, Scott hoped that someone _had_ broken in last night and called him homeless, because otherwise... he didn’t want to think about what that meant.

He finished installing the new deadbolt on the front door and slumped to the floor against the wall. “I’d like to see someone just try to get in this apartment now,” he said and laughed shortly. Grinning to himself, Scott stood and walked into the bathroom to relieve himself.

Of course, it’d be just his luck that he’d pissed off fate or something with his challenge, because one minute he was looking at the water running over his hands in the sink and the next, he was gaping in the mirror at the intruder from the night before.

“Holy shit, how are you in here? I changed the locks. I _just_ changed the locks!” Scott shouted, spinning around. 

No one was there.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, buddy! Long time, no see. So, tell me, what’s going on?” Stiles said, sliding into the chair across from Scott. Stiles was Scott’s best friend, had been since they were kids. Scott hadn’t seen or really talked to him in months though. He sort of felt bad about that. He’d been a bad friend. Again.

Scott shrugged. “Nothing. Can’t a guy just meet his best friend for a drink?”

“Scott, I think we both know that that’s not why you called. You’ve been radio silent for months, ever since I tried to set you up with uh...”

“Danielle. She took one look at me and walked away. I think that was a sign.”

“Right, so why are you willing to hang out again? Not that I’m not glad to hear from you, just, things have been different since—”

“Stiles, I’m... seeing someone?” Scott interrupted, not wanting to hear the end of that sentence.

“That’s great, Scotty but that sounded more like a question than a statement. Does this lucky lady know she’s seeing you?” Stiles asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No!” Scott started, “He’s a—”

“Oh trying the other sex now? No wonder Danielle walked away. Her gaydar is pretty spot on. I’m sort of hurt you didn’t ever take me up on the making out thing in high school.”

“Stiles! Listen for a minute. I’m not dating anyone, I’m _seeing_ someone. As in someone who’s not there. I think I’m going insane but he’s so real maybe I’m not insane at all. Maybe he’s a ghost.”

“...a ghost,” Stiles drawled out, pursing his lips together like he wasn’t sure if Scott was serious or not.

Scott nodded.

“And, uh, how often have you seen this ghost?”

“Twice. In the apartment I’m subletting.”

“Attractive?”

“Stiles, he’s not really there.”

“Right,” Stiles said, nodding his head. “Right, totally. Were you drunk when you saw this guy?”

“A little buzzed, yeah.”

“Scott...”

“Okay, fine, I was wasted,” Scott admitted, slumping in his seat. “Happy? I still shouldn’t be having complete conversations with a tall, blond, clean freak in an apartment he claims is his. Why are you writing this down? I’m not one of your patients, dude!”

“Just trying to help you, Scott. You know you’re like my brother, so my professional services are free of charge, unless this takes more than an hour because then it’ll be full price for you.” Stiles said and paused his scribbling to look up at Scott. 

“I’m kidding,” he adds flatly. “You know, you take all the fun out of this. So, you were drunk and saw this blond, with a penchant for tidiness, and I’m not really sure how much of that is him and how much of that is because you live like a slob on your own.”

“You know what? Forget I mentioned anything. I’ll just quit drinking.” Scott stood and threw some bills on the table.

“No.”

“No?”

“Nope, don’t quit. Just cut back a bit. Go out. Meet people. Have fun. You’re young, you’re alive, you should learn to embrace it again.” Stiles said with a hopeful smile.  

Scott tossed an, “I’ll call you later,” over his shoulder as he walked away.

 

* * *

 

Scott opened one eye blearily, mumbled, “No this can’t be happening. It’s all in your head,”  and tried to suffocate himself with his pillow. 

“Get out of my bed,” the hallucination demanded.

Don’t talk to the hallucination McCall, you’ll only encourage it. Just picture a warm, sunny beach somewhere and the attractive, bossy intruder will go away. 

No. No he did not just admit to thinking the hallucination was attractive. Scott groaned into the pillow.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re sleeping in my bed, in my apartment, but it has to stop.”

“Go away, you’re not real.”

“I’m very real,” the hallucination said, dismissing his not-realness. “I’m going to ask you some questions, answer honestly. Have you increased your alcohol consumption?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Are you hearing voices or seeing things that aren’t quite real to you?”

“Ironically, yes.”

“Have you reached out to a mental health care professional?”

Scott shot up and gawked for a minute before asking in a voice he swears was not higher than normal, “Oh my god, how did you know that? Are you stalking me?”

The hallucination arched an eyebrow. “Do you feel paranoid, like someone’s out to get you?”

“Is this the Spanish Inquisi—Inqua...why are you asking me so many questions?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘Yes’. Listen, you’ve constructed a very convincing fantasy where you’ve rented an apartment that belongs to someone else. There’s a small green stain on the back of that pillow where I spilled Nyquil. Turn it over and see.”

Scott flipped the pillow over and furrowed his brow when he spotted it. There really was a green stain near the corner of the pillow. 

“Yeah, that’s it. How else would I know that? Or that these sheets are from Macy’s and the receipt is in that drawer. I think you need to accept that you might be mentally ill.”

“Really?”

“Yes. This is my apartment, those are my sheets and that’s my picture... where’s my picture?”

“What picture?”

“There was a picture on the nightstand.”

“It wasn’t there when I moved in.”

“It was just there. Forget it, I’m tired of dealing with this. If you don’t leave, I’m gonna call the cops.”

Scott sat up straight and glared, daring the figment of his imagination to prove him wrong. “Okay, do it. Call them.”

The blond smirked and reached for the phone. His face fell when his hand passed through it. Scott watched as the hallucination tried again and again to pick up the phone.

“What the hell?” he shouted, passing his hand through the phone once more.

Scott was torn between triumph and horror. Maybe he needed to see a doctor about this. He used to watch Grey’s Anatomy, just because his mom watched it and not because he secretly loved the show, and he didn’t want to be Izzie Stevens and have some dramatic brain tumor. 

Or maybe he’ll look into this ghost thing. That was completely reasonable, right? After all, there are people who make livings dealing with ghost problems.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait. My grandmother visited and then I got a job (yay, money!), so writing time has been sparse. I hope you enjoy the chapter! Self-beta'd as usual and also may contain some direct quotes from the movie.

Scott opened his eyes to a sea of deep brown. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to remember where he was when it hit him. He must have crashed on the couch last night after... after talking with the ghost. Hallucination? Thing. 

Scott sat up and looked around for the blond guy and released the breath he’d been holding. He was apparently alone in the apartment. This was probably the best time to start trying to find out what had happened to the previous tenant. He grabbed his phone off the coffee table and scrolled through the contacts, calling the only lead he had. 

“Braeden? This is Scott McCall. I was wondering if you had the number of the people who sublet the apartment to me?”

“Is something wrong? I knew it,” she said, jumping to the conclusion that Scott meant something was wrong with the apartment. She’s a great realtor but Scott didn’t need a realtor. He needed answers. Or a shrink. “Month-to-month sublet is always a red flag. Don’t worry about it, I’ll start looking for something else for you.”

“Hey, no, I was just wondering about the person who used to live here.”

“You’re sure?”

Scott hummed into the receiver.

“Okay,” she said, sounding like she didn’t believe him. “Well, the woman I spoke with didn’t want to talk about it. Said it was a tragedy in the family and moved right on to discussing the lease.”

“Do you think he died?”

“Hopefully. Which makes me sound like an awful person, but it’s the only way I’m gonna let this month-to-month thing slide for now. If you really love the apartment, I can start pressuring them for a real lease.”

“No... no, don’t do that.”

“Seriously? That place would have people falling all over themselves trying to get in. It has a fireplace and private roof access with a fantastic view, but okay. If you change your mind, just give me a call.”

Scott agreed and hung up quickly before she could try to talk him into looking for a different apartment.

Time for Plan B then.

 

* * *

 

Scott stood outside the bookstore, debating whether he should just go in or admit defeat and head back home. He’d done a quick Google search for bookstores in the area and this one seemed to be his best bet for books on ghosts. 

He finally sucked it up enough to walk inside, a small bell tinkling when he opened the door. He walked around a few minutes, reading the signs above the shelves. Wicca, UFOs, Vampires. This bookstore had it all. He saw the sign for the Ghosts section and grimaced. Was he really doing this? Yeah, he was. Scott walked over to the section and stared. He had _no_ idea where to even start.

“Welcome to Morrell’s Occult Bookshop. Can I help you find anything?”

Scott shook his head, too embarrassed to ask for help “No, thanks,” he said. It was crazy, to actually think a book about ghosts would help. He should leave and go get a head scan. 

The woman nodded and started walking away. 

He was curious though. If she worked here, she had to believe in it, right? Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “Do you believe in this stuff?”

She turned around and smirked a bit. “No one does, until they have a reason to start.” She  walked back down the aisle, pulled out a book and offered it to Scott. “I recommend the Van Praagh.”

Scott accepted the book and read the title. _Ghosts Among Us._ Huh. That sounded like something he could relate to, if he really was seeing a ghost around the apartment.

“Excuse me, where’s your Sasquatch section?” a short woman with glasses interrupted.

“Far left corner,” she replied and turned back to Scott as the other woman shuffled away. “What sort of encounter have you had?”

“What do you mean?” Scott asked nervously.

“Any ectoplasm? Things moving when they shouldn’t? We have some sêance books if you want to try communicating.”

“Uh... I’m not really sure what ectoplasm looks like but communication is _not_ the problem.”

The woman’s eyebrow arched pretty impressively. “Really? Interesting. In that case, you’ll need this one,” she said, handing him _When Ghosts Speak: Understanding the World of Earthbound Spirits_ by Mary Ann Winkowski and continued, “One word of advice. The longer you wait, the stronger the spirit will be, so if you’re looking to eject them, you should do it soon.”

“Right. Thanks,” he said, still skeptical about the whole thing, and took the books to the counter to pay.  

 

* * *

 

This was the most ridiculous thing Scott had ever done, and that was saying something because he was best friends with Stiles and they had done really stupid, ridiculous things their entire lives. 

“Hello? Are you er...are you here?”

Scott waited, glancing around the living room. Nothing. Maybe he has to coax him out? 

“Okay. I’ll just take a drink from this cup.” Scott picked up the mug from the counter and started walking toward the couch. “Full of coffee. Coffee that might spill on the sofa and stain it, I’m pretty clumsy.

“If you stain that, you’re paying to get it cleaned.”

“That worked?” Scott spun around, the coffee sloshing in the cup and dripping onto the hardwood floor. He couldn’t believe that it worked. The dude really _was_ a clean freak. “Wow, okay. We need to talk.”

The blond was watching him from the doorway with crossed arms, his blue eyes glaring at the cup in Scott’s hand. Scott swallowed and set it down gently.

“About the fact that you’re still living in my apartment and that all you do is sit on my couch and drink beer? I agree.”

“I’m not—nevermind. Look, when you’re not here, where are you?”

“Why?”

Scott growled in frustration. “Would you just answer the question?”

“I’m... at work.”

“Where do you work?”

“Are you planning on stalking me now?”

“No! Oh my god, let’s just start over. Hey, I’m Scott McCall.” Scott waited for the other guy to respond. “And you are...?” he prompted.

The ghost’s eyes darted around the room, staring like he was trying to remember something. “Isaac,” he answered reluctantly.

“Sure that’s your name?”

“I think I know my own name, _Scott,_ ” Isaac drawled.

Scott held up his hands in surrender. He had bigger things to get Isaac to admit to than his name possibly not being his name. “And when was the last time you remember talking to someone other than me?”

Isaac shrugged. “The other day.” 

“Has anything dramatic happened to you recently?”

“Such as?”

“Like, maybe it’s possible that you died?”

Isaac laughed shortly. “Okay, very funny but I’m not dead. Unless I am. Do you make a habit of talking to ghosts? Are you the Ghost Whisperer, Scott?” Isaac asked with a teasing grin.

“Isaac, I’m trying to help you!”

The grin faded from the blond’s face, a defensive look taking its place. “I don’t need your help!” Isaac yelled, walking forward until he was almost touching Scott. “I need you to move out of my apartment!” 

Scott stayed calm, trying to remember what the book had said to do. He knows it said he needed to help him move on, but there wasn’t a step-by-step guide on how to do that. “It’s not your apartment anymore. You need to move on. Isn’t there a bright light or something? Go into the light.”

Scott’s mouth dropped open when he suddenly could see part of the room through Isaac’s chest and legs.

Isaac stepped back and looked down at himself in shock. “What...what’d you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything! You’re dead!”

“Stop,” Isaac said, swiping his hand through Scott. 

“Isaac, you’re dead.”

“Saying.” Isaac aimed a punch at Scott’s face, but the fist passed right through. 

“Isaac....”

“That!” Isaac shouted and tried to shove Scott but ended up falling through him and disappearing.

Scott could feel a chill where Isaac had passed through him and he looked around the apartment. No Isaac. Hopefully that was the end of it. “Rest in Peace, Isaac,” Scott mumbled, taking a sip of his coffee to warm up a bit.

 

* * *

 

So much for Plan B and resting in peace.

Isaac had shown up the next morning while Scott was in the shower, making him screech in surprise and wonder what he’d done to deserve this. Maybe it was that time in high-school when he and Stiles had snuck out to go to Jungle, to see if they could get free drinks. Scott had and Stiles hadn’t but he had made friends with the Drag Queens. It was kind of awesome, until people had OD’d on the dance floor.

Scott slumped on the couch. What was he supposed to do next? Call a psychic? An exorcist? Actually... that wasn’t a terrible idea. It was definitely better than sitting on the couch, listening to Isaac sing “It’s a Small World After All” on loop. Whatever he did in his life, it wasn’t professional singing. Not that he was _bad_ , Scott had heard way worse and Isaac’s voice would be sort of nice if he wasn’t singing the worst song ever. 

Scott groaned. He really, _really_ needed to stop noticing things like that. 

He stood and went to sit at the table, where he’d set his laptop. Once he had Google open, he started looking for priests in the area. 

 

* * *

 

The priest he’d called had come by and done a blessing on the apartment, but Isaac had shown up 15 minutes after he left, so Scott looked up other rituals to exorcise spirits. He found a local Wiccan group who came by and purified the house by burning something that smelled a lot like marijuana. Isaac had sat through the entire ritual laughing at Scott, only disappearing when Scott pointed out that he was the only one who could see him.

Scott was almost to the point of just accepting the fact that he lived with a ghost. Almost. Out of desperation, he’d gone back to the bookstore to see if the lady who’d given him the books could help. He’d gotten a strange feeling that she knew more about his situation than she should have.

Which brought him to now, with Marin Morrell, owner of Morrell's Occult Bookshop, sitting in his haunted apartment and Isaac looking as fed-up as Scott felt.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something?”

Marin looked at him unamused. “I’m not a charlatan who uses tricks to fool you. Do you want me to do the reading or not?”

Isaac sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “She can’t see me either.”

“Yes, there’s definitely a presence here.”

Scott resisted the urge to face-palm. “Okay, what else?”

“It’s hostile. Wants you to move out.”

Isaac perked up and said excitedly, “She’s good.”

Marin opened her eyes and looked at Scott. “You should move. The spirit has too strong of a hold on this place.”

“Oh, I really like her,” Isaac said, grinning at Scott. 

“Nope, not moving,” Scott said resolutely, causing Isaac to stare at him like he was a cup of coffee poised to spill over his precious sofa.

“If you can feel that anger directed at you, I would move.”

“She has a gift. Where’d you find her?”

“I’m not moving!”

“Why not? There are better apartments.”

“I like this one. There’s a view. And a fireplace.”

Marin sighed and stood. “I’m sorry, but moving out is the only way to get away from this spirit.”

“Seriously? That can’t be it.”

“Can’t you talk it into moving on?” 

“I tried. He won’t accept that he’s dead.”

“I’m not dead,” Isaac said aggravatedly. Scott can’t really blame him for that, because if Scott’s sick of telling him that he _is_ dead, then Isaac must be really tired of saying that he isn’t.

“Yes, you are. And I’m the only one that can see you, so you’re either dead or I’m having a conversation with myself.”

“Do you think I enjoy having you be the only person that can see me? I know something’s wrong, I’m walking through walls but I’m not dead.”

"This is one of the most alive spirits I've ever been around,” Marin interrupted. “He's right. He’s not dead."

“But—”

“You need to take care of this spirit, because that’s the darkest aura I’ve ever seen. It’s killing you, day by day. You have to let her go." 

"Uh, he's a dude?"

 "Not him. I mean the spirit you're keeping in here," she said, touching Scott's chest with her pointer finger. “This is what’s really haunting you.”

Scott grit his teeth. "I don't want to talk about that." 

"Oh I get it. You were _dumped_. Probably for some guy who doesn't have a couch glued to his ass." 

"Shut up!"

"What, you can go on and on about how I’m dead but you can’t listen to what’s wrong with your life? You bring Father Flannigan and the Charmed Ones in here to get rid of me but I just start talking about you getting dumped once and—" 

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about, shut the hell up!" Scott yelled, clenching his hands tightly. 

 "I’m sorry for your loss,” Marin said, watching Scott sadly. “A word to the wise: show some respect for the dead."

Scott could see Isaac staring at him in shock, could feel Marin looking at him with pity and he just couldn’t be there anymore. He walked out, heading for the roof. After all this time, it still hurt. And he was angry. Angry that the ghost he’d gotten stuck with wasn’t her.

But maybe that would have been worse. She’d hate to see him like this.

"Scott? I'm sorry,” Isaac said, having followed him up to the roof. 

Scott didn’t say anything.

“I don't know you very well, I guess." Isaac is next to him now and looking around the roof. "You know, I got this place for the roof. I'm—uh… not a fan of small spaces. Now I'm babbling. I'm really sorry. Do you want to talk—"

"I _don't_ want to talk about it," Scott said firmly.

"Okay." They stood there quietly for a few minutes, staring at the headlights of cars below, before Isaac spoke again. "Who was she talking about?"

"Her name was Allison."

"Allison…." he repeated.

"She was my wife," he said, before going back inside. 

 

* * *

 

Scott needed a drink and the best place for that was going to be the bar Stiles had texted him to be at.

“A bar, Scott? I don’t think more drinking’s going to help.”

“How would you know? Have you tried it?”

“The hermit rejoins society!” Stiles said upon seeing Scott. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it, buddy. Alright, everyone, this is Scott. Scott, this is everyone.”

Scott nodded to the group of people with a strained smile and ordered a shot of Jack.

“Don’t do it.”

“Make it a double,” he told the bartender.

“You can’t drink your feelings away. I tried. It doesn’t work.”

“Watch me try,” he said, draining the shot glass and gesturing for a refill.

Stiles must have heard Scott, because he wrapped an arm around Scott’s shoulders and leaned in to ask, “You doing okay? I thought I told you to cut back.”

“I’m fine, Stiles.”

“Okay, say goodbye and go get something to eat,” Isaac said, sounding unusually worried. 

Scott, feeling spiteful, just ordered another shot. “You’re not my mom,” he mumbled and shook Stiles’ arm off.

“Real talk, Scotty,” Stiles said, taking the seat next to him. “Have any more hallucinations?”

“Those were nothing, just needed more sleep.”

Stiles nodded slowly. “So you’ve been sleeping okay?”

“Eight hours,” Scott said, tipping the alcohol back. 

“Twelve,” Isaac countered in vain. After all, only Scott could hear him.

“Nine, tops.”

“You don’t look so good. Are you eating enough?”

“Stiles, I didn’t come here for you to mother-hen me. I get enough of that at home.”

“Excuse me for caring,” Stiles snapped and turned back to his other group of friends.

Scott cursed under his breath. Great, now he’d pissed off his best friend. Way to go, McCall. He ordered another shot. He tried to bring the glass to his lips, but Isaac had decided to take control of his arm and slam the glass back on the bar. People were staring at him like he was gonna lose it. Scott let go of the glass and threw some money down for the drinks before stalking out, Isaac behind him.

“Oh my god, are you crazy?” Scott whispered harshly. 

“You’re gonna thank me for that later,” Isaac said, crossing his arms

“For what? You made me look like a crazy person!” he shouted, throwing his arms up. He spotted a bench across the street and went to go sit on it and contemplate moving into a cave in the woods. Hopefully Isaac would get the hint and leave him alone.

 

* * *

 

“Why are you still here?”

“Big question, no idea,” Isaac said, taking a seat on the bench. “Why are you the only one that can see me?”

Scott leaned forward, putting his weight on his arms, and laughed humorlessly. “I wish I knew.”

Isaac shifted next to him and fidgeted with the sleeves of his jacket. “It’s weird. When I’m not with you, it’s like I don’t exist.” Isaac paused. “Crap. Maybe I _am_ dead.”

“Oh, come on. _Now_ you agree with me? I’m sorry I said that you’re dead. Maybe you’re not. Marin agrees with you. Maybe you were a scientist and had an accident in the lab that made you invisible. And inaudible. Except to me,” he said, sitting up and giving Isaac a small smile.

“I wish I could remember something, who I am... or who I was, I guess. Then I’d know,” Isaac said softly. “I’m trying. I’m trying to remember but I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

“Are you asking for my help?”

“Yeah. Look at it this way, either you’re insane and sitting on a park bench talking to yourself, or someone’s come into your life in a very strange way and needs your help.”

“I think I prefer the second one. And Isaac?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to help you. I don’t want you to be stuck like this.”

Isaac stared at Scott with his mouth parted in disbelief. “Thank you, Scott.”

Scott's chest tightened at the the look in his eyes. He hoped he wouldn't let Isaac down.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got the whole thing outlined chapter by chapter and every chapter already has at least something written for it, so provided life doesn't get in the way (and it does do that, I'm sorry to say), this should be completed fairly quickly and I'm 99% positive that it'll be 10 chapters. Thank you for reading!


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